There's no such thing as a life changing moment. There's never that one moment that completely turns everything around, and there never really is change. Moments just have a funny habit of building up, one after the other, and each one makes a person slightly different. And though a moment by itself can be taken as the most miniscule of differences, by the end of the year you can look back and you'll see that 365 days ago, you weren't different in yourself so much as you were a completely different person.
Which is terrifying, in a way. Nearly everyone likes themselves as who they are. Sure, there's flaws to fix, but no one likes to think that thirty years they'll have a completely different mindset, personality, because then where did the person they are now go?
The way I see it, it's like the body. Not a single molecule will remain on the body you have now in forty years. You'll have regenerated a completely different body. Maybe what's inside the body is like that too. One thought, one atom, at a time is replaced. And then one day you realize, BAM, nothing you say or do is what you would have said or done five, ten years ago.
So when Lilac and I played tic-tac-toe all the way too Aqueduct that weekend in the backseat, Lilac's father and brother in the front, I didn't realize that each mile that spun beneath the car's tires was taking me to my next moment. One that would help craft me into the person I would become.
Bloodless Day rattled in the last stall of the four-horse slant we pulled. Holiday Break was in the second stall and Shamrock in the first, an entire space left between the slightly nutty stallion. Trailing behind us was Jack and Ned with a two-horse, lugging along Tact and some maiden filly. The fun car. Lilac had begged to go with them, but her father had refused, on the grounds of "I want to spend some quality time with my daughter. She's growing up when I'm not looking."
He'd launched into a deep and complicated sounding conversation about the most recent racing regulations or some bull with Derek and hadn't acknowledged mine or Lilac's presence, except to ask what we wanted at Wendy's. A chocolate frosty and fries.
"You suck at this, Anna," Lilac said when I lost for the thirtieth consecutive time in a row.
"I know," I said, frustrated. "Can we go back to playing that line game? With the dots?"
"I beat you at that game too."
"Not the once."
We bickered our way upstate, until Lilac's father tired of us and kicked us out and into Ned and Jack's truck, where music was blasted and Lilac and Ned made out in the back seat while Jack and I exchanged nervous glances and turned the radio up to its limits in the front seat.
Reaching the racetrack was a relief. We'd left fairly early, so it was still daylight when I jumped out of the cab and landed on the now familiar Aqueduct land. Our regular shedrow- how quickly I had become part of Piperson's 'our'- loomed in front of us, waiting. Derek and Mr. Piperson had arrived a few minutes before and were nowhere in sight, but then Derek came striding from the shedrow.
"That's that. We have our stalls at the ready, if we'll start unloading."
I started towards the four-horse trailer, intending to retrieve Bloodless Day from it, but Lilac's brother stepped in front of me. "I know you've been getting along fairly well with him this week, but this is a new place and I don't want you getting hurt. Despite all of your advancements within the farm, you're still new to this."
With that pronouncement, Derek turned to the trailer, deftly undoing the hooks and levers that shut the door. I stared at him, shocked. Heat reddened my cheeks, but I couldn't tell if I was embarassed or mad.
A hand lightly touched my shoulder as Jack said, voice low in my ear, "he'll get what's coming to him. But pick your fights with someone who doesn't write your paycheck."
"Like I care about money." I growled back to him. But I did let him gently pull me back, so as to avoid the explosion that was Bloodless Day.
The magnificent stallion shot out of the trailer, lathered with the sweat of travel. Ears pinned in his tangled mane, fury in his eyes at being trapped in the moving, shaking, metal box, he charged towards Derek, ducking out at the last second and skittering between the two parked trailers. Rather than dash forwards and help, as was everyone's instincts, Lilac and Ned loitered by the truck, chatting unconcernedly, and Jack, though having released me, just sighed. I took the hint and watched Derek lunge forwards as Bloodless Day ducked towards him, and then away, suddenly playful. The world at his feet was his to traverse, there was nothing to stop him, and he knew it.
"BD," I breathed.
The racehorse turned towards me and hesitated, and Derek took a quick step, snatching at the lead rope.
That decided it for BD. Wheeling around, he yanked the rope from Derek's grasp as easily as he would avoid a fly, trotting over to me. A suspicious glare at Jack was cast, but the pull to me was too strong. "Good boy." I said, smiling broadly.
Mr. Piperson was in the shedrow, leaning against the wall. "We know who can handle this horse. Nicely done, Anna. Take him into his stall, it's the second on the right."
I did as told and braced myself against the door, watching him check out his surroundings, circling. "I wish we didn't bring you," I murmured.
In the excitement over my ride on him, Willifred had decided to bring Bloodless Day to Aqueduct in the hopes of readying him for a race. I wasn't sure which race, or when, since he wouldn't allow anyone else on his back, but it was a hopeful thought.
"Anna!" Came Lilac's voice. "We're going to dinner!"
I glanced back into the stall and met Bloodless Day's pentrating gaze. "You be good," I warned.
Then I left.
*****
Dawn entered the new day cautiously, with tendrils of purple light that gently grazed Aqueduct before skipping along to shake the rest of the world awake. There was the faint hint of a chill in the air, but now spring had decided to come round again, so I had forsaken my usual jacket in favor of a light, long-sleeve grey shirt, hair in a single braid and feet fully enclosed in boots. It was a very jockey-ish outfit, in my opinion. I paused for a moment in my vigorous brushing to tilt my head up to a ray of sun that struck through a hole in the barn roof exactly right. Shamrock, next to me, was embalmed in a golden hue from that same ray.
The filly nickered. I patted her softly and resumed brushing her, annoyed at the dust yet admiring it at the same time as it flew off of Shamrock and lingered in the air, a dry mist.
Everyone else was getting coffee and donuts. Lilac had promised to bring some for me, so I wasn't too concerned.
Shamrock nickered again, and footsteps permeated my thoughts. Glancing up, I saw a floating smirk, the outline of a person, curly hair, and then the dust settled and I saw Wes.
"Oh," I said. "What do you want?" Was she supposed to be here? I couldn't remember; four am wakeups were fine, but not with eleven pm sleepdowns. Was sleepdowns a word? It should be. Was Wes saying something?
My eyes flitted open again. She was talking. "...so I guess you don't mind hanging out with dishonest people, especially ones who drug horses and don't take the blame for it."
"She's different now," I snapped. "Who someone was a few years ago is not who they are now."
Wes rolled her eyes, pressing her face into Shamrock's shoulder. The filly adjusted her weight and tilted her head back, eyeing the other girl. Built like Lilac, the same face, and yet, the differences in their personalities shone through so well. "You don't get it, do you? They never do. Some people don't change. Some people just stop. Haven't you spoken to your grandfather, or something, who insists that everything was better in the good ol' days? They had racism, they had... damned if I know. No AC, automobiles... whatever. It sucked, and we know that, but they insist it was better, and they're not going to change because they think that since they were the best then, they're the best now. It happens all the time, popular high schoolers become trailer park trash, because they're going to stay in stasis. Not studying, not trying, except to be cool. And it's complete and utter bull-"
"That'll be enough." A voice said firmly, from behind me. Wes and I started, but Shamrock remained calm, for she was facing Jack as he entered, balancing a box of donuts on one palm and a cupholder of coffee- or, now that I thought about it, tea- on the other. "You are not welcome here. This shedrow is for Piperson staff only."
"I was just on my way," Wes said, shooting me a significant look as she ducked under Shamrock's crosstie, sauntering out of our shedrow. I stood for a moment, staring at the brush in my hand, forgetting everything but her words. It was the most she'd ever said to me, except maybe in the bathroom a few weeks back, but something of truth rang in her words. Some people didn't change. It was inevitable, I guess. Lilac wasn't one of those, though. I knew this. So who did she mean? Me? Herself?
"Was she here long?" Jack asked casually, passing me a cup. I took a sip and miracles upon miracles, it was coffee. Immediately the caffeine went to my brain, and I could think clearly again.
"No. Just a minute or two."
He nodded thoughtfully, glancing at Shamrock. "Maybe it's best not to mention this to Lilac. She'll get upset and it's just unnecessary."
"Mmm..." I fell silent for a moment, and we just sipped our coffee, studying Shamrock with pensieve eyes. The filly looked back and arched her neck, pawing lightly at the air. She knew something was up. "Race today?"
"Holiday has his first. Then her, later this afternoon. But we're working her first thing. I'm hoping if we get her out on the track when no one else is there, she can explore it a little and gain confidence."
"Sounds good." I put my coffee down and returned to work, brushing off dust and flattening her mane with my palm. It was too short to really need combing. Then I carefully laid down her exercise pad, and an exercise saddle, on her short, smooth back. "Where's my helmet?"
"Ah- Actually, I'm riding her today."
I blinked.
Jack managed to look slightly embarassed at taking my ride, though his words made perfect sense. "I need to get a feel of her again- I haven't ridden her since our last race. Gotta start working as a team again sometime, right, girl?" Jack held a hand out to Shamrock. The chestnut sniffed it primly and then looked away, disinterested. I laughed. "Too bad you're not a jockey, Anna. The horses seem to like you better. Or maybe that's because you're not a jockey."
I laughed again, and then Jack took the bridle from its hook and slipped it onto the filly, accepting a leg-up from me. Jack swatted me with his crop as he urged Shamrock into a walk, and soon he and the filly were nothing but dancing silhouettes against the purple backdrop of the morning.
*****
Holiday Break had a nice run. It was a small allowance race. He broke cleanly, went straight to the rail, and streaked for the finish line like a greased pig set free in the fresh market, tiring only a few lengths from the line. He lost by a little bit more than a nose, but it was nothing to not write home about. Everyone was pleased. Then it was time for Shamrock's race.
After her nice run out, it was generally agreed to enter her in a stakes race. Lilac and I twittered nervously together as we waited by the rail, me nervous because Shamrock was running, and Lilac because she thought she'd spotted her sister. I didn't say that she probably had, because the morning was something I wanted to put into a box and lock away, to be examined at a later date.
Shamrock walked evenly onto the track. Jack held her mouth softly, riding calmly as the pony horse led them to the gates, so far away on the otherside of the track. I watched closely until I could not see them anymore, so far away they were. Lilac sighed impatienly. "I cannot wait to be out there, riding. Skip would run so much better if I was on him."
"Didn't he win his last race?" I asked absentmindedly.
Lilac huffed and didn't speak to me again until the race started.
"And they're off!" The announcer cried.
"So this is an eight-furlong race," Lilac spoke quickly. "A full mile-"
"I know that," I muttered, annoyed.
"Sorry. Habit. Anyways, so Jack will try to hold her back a bit, so she doesn't waste herself, but not too far back, because otherwise she'll have difficulty taking the lead when it comes time to make her move. Look how he's going through that bit of a hole there, and nudging her up a bit? Good. They're in a nice position. And- yep- that frikkin' black horse that kicked the flower pot is tiring a bit. He expended too much energy during post time. That's why he's swaying out now- that's why we work so hard on teaching our horses good manners. Because otherwise they'll tire out too much. And there goes the tiny bay, bit of a shame but not really. And he should be making his move now- come on Shamrock!"
"Lilac," I said. "Shut up."
Shamrock was a machine, a glittering bronze bullet that pounded down the track in a steady rhythmn, every muscle working under her glossy coat simultaneously. So many different parts, all working for the same goal- the finish line. Her eyes were dark and determined, ears back, as Jack kneaded his hands along her neck, asking for a bit more. Another horse was up ahead. Just one. They were two furlongs from the finish line, one furlong, a half, and then...
"Lilac! Anna! How are you two on this fine day?"
Startled, I whirled to face Wes. Lilac took a sharp breath at my side, elbows knocking with mine as she spun. "Hello, Wes," she said evenly. "We're rather busy at the moment."
"I noticed. Still campaigning that mare, I see. I was just here to see if Anna would like to continue our conversation from earlier, when we were so rudely interrupted by that jockey of yours."
I could see Lilac's mind working. She opened her mouth. "What conver-"
The crowd gasped.
It was a singular exhalation of horror, pity, shock. The useless kind of sound when someone sees something that needs help, but not of the sort they could give. I'd heard that sound all too often before. A fresh wound seared through my memories as Wes suddenly straightened, looking over our shoulders. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, suddenly genuinely sorrowful. "She was a nice mare."
Lilac, at my side, turned slowly, but I just stared at Wes. Who was a nice mare? Why was Wes sorry about that? But then Lilac was not at my side, she was under the railing, and I was following without asking why and then there was an astonished murmuring behind me and the apologies in front of me and the copper and bronze body of Shamrock filling my vision, the only feature distinguishing from her metallic coat the hazelnut-brown eyes, alive and hurting.
"What happened?" Someone gasped. Maybe it was me. But my mind was filled with, not emotions or thoughts of my own, but actions. Pat the horse. Murmur comforting words to her. Her face was in the ground, the bridle digging into her cheek. Was that my hand? Why, yes it was, and it was sliding the bridle off, pulling the bit from her teeth. Shamrock's teeth. My beautiful, sweet Shamrock.
"I'm sorry..." A murmur. Sorry? What was there to apologize for? The bridle digging into her cheek? But I'd fixed that. Now we just needed to get Shamrock up. She'd fallen, and she couldn't get up, she couldn't giddy-up, and here a smile flikered across my face, because... because...
My eyes traveled away from her begging, pleading eyes and towards the rest of her body, strewn unnaturally across the dirt track. What would the spectators think of this? I looked towards them, but saw only the pale blue of some sort of artificial wall. "What's going on?" I managed, and Lilac was at my side.
"Oh, Anna... Shamrock. Sweet Shammy girl." My friend knelt and kissed the mare on the muzzle. Shamrock eyed her with those large eyes, so light, so trusting, and seemed to relax. "Anna, her cannon bone is shattered and her hock twisted."
"Fixable," I said, because it had to be. I, too, knelt and gently stroked the filly's soft face, running a hand down her neck, surprised to find other hands there too, and an ambulance. Not on her neck, but above us, flashing lights, red and blue. Waiting. For what?
"No, Anna. It's not."
I finally took my gaze away from the filly and into my friend's eyes, swimming with tears.
"They're going to put her down."
"When?" I asked, mouth suddenly dry. This couldn't be happening. I looked at Shamrock, expecting to feel- what? Sadness? Rage?- but she was here, and though she was hurting, there was still life burning through her, liquid and hot. I only hoped to help her.
"Euthanasia."
The word didn't mean anything for the longest of them. But then I saw a needle. And then it did mean something. They couldn't save her, because they knew more than I did, and if they could, they would have.
"Say good-bye, Anna."
I cradled Shamrock's head in my arms. She looked back at me, so trusting, and I stared back. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to trace her body with my fingers, scratching her itchy spots, combing over that little spot of her mane that stubbornly fell to the wrong side of the neck. I wanted to feel that stretching gallop again. But all Shamrock could do was look, and so I looked back, rubbing right behind her ears with one hand, but trapping her with my other. My gaze filled with the trusting gaze of this amazing soul, and I watched her and held her until the trust faded from her eyes, replaced by something glassy and empty.
****
Do you guys still love me? *sheepish grin*
Okay two things:
OCHO OCHO OCHO
And I just read Looking for Alaska and it brought back a lot of memories and of all the books ever that is one of the most Not-okay books I've ever read because ugh.
(My Sister's Keeper is the absolute of the most Not-okay books. Blood of Olympus has second place. For different reasons)
It's one fifteen in the morning and I am updating now because I'm a heartless toad and want you to wake up and have the very soul sucked out of you because I just killed this wonderful horse.
Ohmygoodness.
I need sleep.
Iggy out!
*insert little peace sign dude with the glasses pictures here because I'm cool that way*